“Girls in blue ribbons and babies in soft diapers – these are some of my favourite things”.
It was almost two years and a half since we have been trying for a baby. I was keen on having one straight after my marriage but hubby dear was of the opinion that we need some time to ourselves. I of course thought that the difference in age between the child and the parents should be such that they are more like friends rather than having the conventional relationship. However, that was not to be with me.
So, I started where I had left off with my career before I was married. In the meantime, I had completed a full-length tele-serial in Assamese, a documentary in Hindi, and scores of smaller assignments. I always as a kid, had a fetish for acting or rather creating a niche in the media world. Back in school, I was always selected to enact some role or the other in the school annual day functions, which I enjoyed like anything. I remember Sister Rita from school, who would search and chase me down to join in the elocution competitions. It was a lot of fun, though I remember I would be shaking like a leaf when on stage. Now, looking back at those days, I laugh at myself for suffering from such bouts of stage fright.
School concerts were great too. Being from a convent, we were taught the proper intonations and modulations before we finally went onto the stage. Once, when I had to do the role of Fuji Yama, a character from the play, Cherry Blossom, I forgot my dialogues at the eleventh hour. Sister Rita was so sour with me that I was only a little short of being spanked. All said and done, I enjoyed each and every annual concert. The smell of powder, rouge and lipstick; the subdued voices and soft patter of feet as we got ready backstage, the touch of our satin and net frocks against our delicate fingers. And our little hearts pounding so hard that we were scared lest the microphones caught the beat. Everything was magical. We were like cute princesses on stage, making our parents look on proudly as their daughters made each calculated move, step by step to make the concert a great success, year after year.
College was great as I flew past with the Best Actress Award as a French gentleman. My career in acting, compering, and anchoring major shows took off with a lot of support from the home front. The yearning to get onto the stage once again made me take on important roles in plays, one after the other. It was one big mad rush to get to the top.
In the course of this ongoing commitment to acting, anchoring et al, I still felt the terrible urge to become a mother. Both hubby and I ran from pillar to post, doing all sorts of tests on me as well as him. If someone told us that one doctor was good, there was someone to tell us that there was someone even better. “It’s been seven years that they have been childless, now they have one because of Dr.X. You must consult him at once.” I got a little tired listening to all this jargon. Why I am saying it is because nothing was coming of use to us. We even tried some ‘famous’ god men in and around the city, thinking maybe the flowers and the holy water they gave us would work on us but to no avail.
Frustration, depression, hatred, meanness was all getting the better of me. I wanted a baby and I wanted it bad. I even started having dreams at night of having my baby, cuddling it to my chest and putting it to sleep. I would be so happy in my dreams that I always woke up with tears on my pillow.
I even spoke of adoption but then it has its constraints, hubby had told me. I kept quiet and finally accepted that if God wants that I should be childless, then that’s the way it will be. Some of my friends and aunts consoled me, telling me to be patient and have faith in God. I will have a baby one day.
One afternoon, as usual, I was out window shopping but returned with a load of packets. I had to drag my feet to keep my balance. It was pretty warm too and I could feel a long trail of sweat trickling down my back. As I left the shopping arcade and made for my car, lost in thoughts, a man suddenly jumped in front of me and caught hold of my bags. I almost screamed and pulled back my hands.
Before I took time to realize what was happening, I heard a loud guffaw and a friendly voice said, “Baidew, bhale ase (Sister, how are you?)”. I looked, squinting against the bright afternoon sun only to see the most unassuming face smiling back at me. It took me some time before I could recognize Nripen.
He used to drive our office car and wash mine once in a while. In return, I would send small gifts like a saree to his wife or shirts for him. He would take them as if they were some sort of treasure. I was the only person who actually treated him like a human being. The rest of my colleagues would behave as if he was some sort of an animal, more so because of his appearance – dry, unkempt hair and dry chapped skin to go with it, a disheveled pair of shirt and trousers and a toothless smile that made everyone avoid meeting his eyes, which of course had the sparkle of a clear mountain stream.
Nripen would keep me posted about his wife’s condition. They were trying very hard for a baby but she was having some serious problems. I would listen to him at length and suggest some names of doctors he can take her to. More than anything else, I saw my problem in them.
Incidentally, Nripen had to leave his job in our office and since then, I lost all contact with him. It was per chance that I met him again that afternoon. I was elated and also a wee bit embarrassed as he pulled at my heavy packets to drop them in my car. I am usually not used to anyone doing chores for me. I finally gave in to Nripen’s persistence. As we walked towards the car, he asked me how my hubby was keeping, if everything was fine in my work front and if my parents were well. Then he asked me, “Baidew, I remember you were trying for a baby. Have you had one yet?” I was shocked, taken aback and feeling dismal, all at the same time. “Not yet, Nripen. I am trying,” I replied, saddened at my own answer. He seemed apprehensive when he tried to convince me that his wife was being treated by some village quack and they were successful in having a baby.
When he was finally sure that I was not one person to go down to the village for the medicines, he suggested something that absolutely floored me. “Baidew, why don’t you do one thing? Take my baby. Guess what, he looks just like you. Nobody will say that it is not your baby.”
I was dumbstruck. Did I hear him correctly? Did he say he wanted to give me his baby? But why would he? It's his child.
Thank you Nripen. But I cannot take your baby. Your wife and you have had it after so much of patience and prayers. You are indeed my messiah in disguise. So, I will need all your prayers and blessings for me to become a mother.
It was almost two years and a half since we have been trying for a baby. I was keen on having one straight after my marriage but hubby dear was of the opinion that we need some time to ourselves. I of course thought that the difference in age between the child and the parents should be such that they are more like friends rather than having the conventional relationship. However, that was not to be with me.
So, I started where I had left off with my career before I was married. In the meantime, I had completed a full-length tele-serial in Assamese, a documentary in Hindi, and scores of smaller assignments. I always as a kid, had a fetish for acting or rather creating a niche in the media world. Back in school, I was always selected to enact some role or the other in the school annual day functions, which I enjoyed like anything. I remember Sister Rita from school, who would search and chase me down to join in the elocution competitions. It was a lot of fun, though I remember I would be shaking like a leaf when on stage. Now, looking back at those days, I laugh at myself for suffering from such bouts of stage fright.
School concerts were great too. Being from a convent, we were taught the proper intonations and modulations before we finally went onto the stage. Once, when I had to do the role of Fuji Yama, a character from the play, Cherry Blossom, I forgot my dialogues at the eleventh hour. Sister Rita was so sour with me that I was only a little short of being spanked. All said and done, I enjoyed each and every annual concert. The smell of powder, rouge and lipstick; the subdued voices and soft patter of feet as we got ready backstage, the touch of our satin and net frocks against our delicate fingers. And our little hearts pounding so hard that we were scared lest the microphones caught the beat. Everything was magical. We were like cute princesses on stage, making our parents look on proudly as their daughters made each calculated move, step by step to make the concert a great success, year after year.
College was great as I flew past with the Best Actress Award as a French gentleman. My career in acting, compering, and anchoring major shows took off with a lot of support from the home front. The yearning to get onto the stage once again made me take on important roles in plays, one after the other. It was one big mad rush to get to the top.
In the course of this ongoing commitment to acting, anchoring et al, I still felt the terrible urge to become a mother. Both hubby and I ran from pillar to post, doing all sorts of tests on me as well as him. If someone told us that one doctor was good, there was someone to tell us that there was someone even better. “It’s been seven years that they have been childless, now they have one because of Dr.X. You must consult him at once.” I got a little tired listening to all this jargon. Why I am saying it is because nothing was coming of use to us. We even tried some ‘famous’ god men in and around the city, thinking maybe the flowers and the holy water they gave us would work on us but to no avail.
Frustration, depression, hatred, meanness was all getting the better of me. I wanted a baby and I wanted it bad. I even started having dreams at night of having my baby, cuddling it to my chest and putting it to sleep. I would be so happy in my dreams that I always woke up with tears on my pillow.
I even spoke of adoption but then it has its constraints, hubby had told me. I kept quiet and finally accepted that if God wants that I should be childless, then that’s the way it will be. Some of my friends and aunts consoled me, telling me to be patient and have faith in God. I will have a baby one day.
One afternoon, as usual, I was out window shopping but returned with a load of packets. I had to drag my feet to keep my balance. It was pretty warm too and I could feel a long trail of sweat trickling down my back. As I left the shopping arcade and made for my car, lost in thoughts, a man suddenly jumped in front of me and caught hold of my bags. I almost screamed and pulled back my hands.
Before I took time to realize what was happening, I heard a loud guffaw and a friendly voice said, “Baidew, bhale ase (Sister, how are you?)”. I looked, squinting against the bright afternoon sun only to see the most unassuming face smiling back at me. It took me some time before I could recognize Nripen.
He used to drive our office car and wash mine once in a while. In return, I would send small gifts like a saree to his wife or shirts for him. He would take them as if they were some sort of treasure. I was the only person who actually treated him like a human being. The rest of my colleagues would behave as if he was some sort of an animal, more so because of his appearance – dry, unkempt hair and dry chapped skin to go with it, a disheveled pair of shirt and trousers and a toothless smile that made everyone avoid meeting his eyes, which of course had the sparkle of a clear mountain stream.
Nripen would keep me posted about his wife’s condition. They were trying very hard for a baby but she was having some serious problems. I would listen to him at length and suggest some names of doctors he can take her to. More than anything else, I saw my problem in them.
Incidentally, Nripen had to leave his job in our office and since then, I lost all contact with him. It was per chance that I met him again that afternoon. I was elated and also a wee bit embarrassed as he pulled at my heavy packets to drop them in my car. I am usually not used to anyone doing chores for me. I finally gave in to Nripen’s persistence. As we walked towards the car, he asked me how my hubby was keeping, if everything was fine in my work front and if my parents were well. Then he asked me, “Baidew, I remember you were trying for a baby. Have you had one yet?” I was shocked, taken aback and feeling dismal, all at the same time. “Not yet, Nripen. I am trying,” I replied, saddened at my own answer. He seemed apprehensive when he tried to convince me that his wife was being treated by some village quack and they were successful in having a baby.
When he was finally sure that I was not one person to go down to the village for the medicines, he suggested something that absolutely floored me. “Baidew, why don’t you do one thing? Take my baby. Guess what, he looks just like you. Nobody will say that it is not your baby.”
I was dumbstruck. Did I hear him correctly? Did he say he wanted to give me his baby? But why would he? It's his child.
Thank you Nripen. But I cannot take your baby. Your wife and you have had it after so much of patience and prayers. You are indeed my messiah in disguise. So, I will need all your prayers and blessings for me to become a mother.
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